


I Think...

by kaijoskopycat



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Confessions, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:59:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8997397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijoskopycat/pseuds/kaijoskopycat
Summary: Only days before a big competition and Yuri Plisetsky is determined to drink himself, and Otabek, into a stupor. Otabek quickly learns why and finds that the best way to combat a drunk Yuri Plisetsky is with actual, physical "combat". And maybe a few honest words.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkandwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandwords/gifts).



> A birthday ficlet for one of my favorite people out there. I hope your birthday is amazing, asshat! Happy day of your birth!!!!
> 
> I also might’ve watched The Man From Uncle when I was supposed to be working and was inspired by a scene

“Drinks?”

Otabek glances up as Yuri plops down on the couch to his right, throwing his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. When he notices Otabek’s reprimanding frown he sighs and lets them slide to the floor. It is a hotel room, after all. Not his coffee table.

“No, thank you,” Otabek replies, nodding his acknowledgment of the gesture.

“Hah?” Yuri twists off the cap to the bottle of vodka and generously fills his glass and the one beside it. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’re gonna shit out on me cause of the competition.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Tch,” Yuri downs his glass in a single gulp and reaches for the bottle to pour another.

“You are a lightweight.”

“I’m Russian.”

Otabek snorts. He closes the book he was reading and sets it on the table. This is going to be interesting. “I am aware. And I am from Kazakhstan, but I fail to see how that matters here.”

“I’m born and bred to down some vodka and that’s what I’m gonna do.” As if to make his point, Yuri raises his glass in a mock toast and knocks it back.

“Most Russians, yes. But you,” Otabek stares pointedly at the way Yuri’s cheeks flush. And he’s only had two glasses. “Not so much.”

“Just have a drink with me,” Yuri demands, pushes the extra glass toward Otabek.

With a sigh, Otabek reaches forward and pushes the glass back. “How about you save that for after the competition?”

“Fucking wimp,” Yuri grumbles as he snatches the extra glass off the table and takes a sip. “I’m not wasting this.”

“I suppose I should expect no less.”

“So how ‘bout that girl?”

The sudden change of subject startles him. Otabek glances around the room, knowing they’re alone, but wondering what girl Yuri would be talking about.

“The waitress, Beka. The one that was making those damn heart eyes at you.” He can see Yuri’s scowl through the bottom of the quickly emptying glass. Yuri sets it down with extra force, reaching out to grab the bottle once again. By now, Otabek knows better than to stop him. Once Yuri Plisetsky sets his mind to something it’s nearly impossible to change it.

“The waitress? At me?” Otabek can remember her clearly. Tall, with long, brown hair, brilliantly white teeth, and eyes only for Yuri, not for him. “She was looking at you, Yura. Likely one of your many fans.”

Yuri barks a laugh and sets another empty glass on the coffee table. “You're getting blind in your old age.”

Otabek rolls his eyes. “Yes, in the small number of years between us.”

“And ya didn’t see…” Yuri pushes himself up and the way he sways makes Otabek stand and reach out a steadying arm.

Yuri slaps him away, stumbling dangerously to the side.

Otabek ignores the sting of the slap and grabs him again. “Yura, you’re not–”

“I’m trying to… tell you something!” Yuri jerks out of his grasp and uses his momentum to shove Otabek backward.

Otabek rocks on the balls of his feet and levels a glare at Yuri. “Stop acting like a stubborn child and let me help you to your room.”

Yuri jerks forward, throwing arms at Otabek’s chest to throw him back again. “I’m not going back to my room.”

Yuri’s wrists are still so slim. The four years since they’ve become friends hasn’t changed how lithe he is. He’s grown. He’s at least an inch or two taller than Otabek now, but still so much slimmer in comparison to his own stocky, muscular build. Otabek’s grip tightens as he lowers Yuri’s hands to his sides.

“I’m not playing,” he warns, gradually releasing Yuri’s wrists when he feels he’ll stand still without falling.

“You don’t want to play,” Yuri muses aloud. He cocks his head to the side, a small smirk spreading across his lips. “I get it. You don’t want to fucking play… you want to wrestle.”

“To wrest–”

All the air leaves Otabek’s lungs, taking the incredulous words with them, when Yuri dips a shoulder and launches himself into Otabek’s chest. The force throws them both backward, knocking them over the back of the couch. Yuri lands on top of Otabek, his weight pinning him to the ground.

Otabek slams his hands against Yuri’s shoulders, trying to shove him off but Yuri resists.

“She only had eyes for you,” Yuri whispers, almost a growl.

Otabek’s eyes widen. He stops pushing. “Are you…” His grip loosens, his hands sliding down to Yuri’s upper arms. “Are you jealous?”

Yuri’s arms falter, his palms slipping on the hardwood. He lets himself fall forward, bracing on his forearms instead. His face is barely an inch away from Otabek’s.

“Only for you…” he repeats, scowling. From this close, Otabek can see the way his eyes waver and refocus on him.

“I wasn’t looking at her,” Otabek tells him, barely more than a whisper.

Yuri draws in a slow, shallow breath. “Who were you looking at?” He leans forward. Otabek can feel his warm breath on his skin, almost taste the burn of the alcohol Yuri drank.

Otabek’s voice doesn’t waver when he says, “I think you know who I was looking at, Yura.”

Yuri’s forehead presses against his own when he slides down further. “I think... I think I like you, Beka.”

The breath catches in Otabek’s throat and he’s pretty sure his heart stopped beating for a moment.

“Yura…”

Yuri’s eyes flutter shut and his body goes slack. His head dips to the side, his face falling into the crook between Otabek's neck and shoulder. His warm breath tickles Otabek’s neck and evens out.

“Ah…” Otabek’s head falls back against the ground with a jarring thud. It’s the first time he realized he was leaning up to meet Yuri halfway. The same Yuri who said he likes him. The same Yuri who is now dead asleep on top of him.

Otabek sighs and wraps an arm around Yuri’s waist, using the other to push himself to his feet. He carries Yuri to his bed, pushing the covers aside and gently laying him out on the mattress. Yuri mumbles incoherently in his sleep, turning his head to the side.

The sight brings a smile to Otabek’s face. It’s been years, but when he’s asleep Yuri still looks like the young man who agreed to be his friend so long ago. And Otabek is glad he came right out and asked for friendship back then. He can’t imagine a life, a future without Yuri Plisetsky in it.

After pulling the comforter over Yuri’s body, he reaches out, brushing his long blond hair away from his forehead so he can press a kiss against the smooth, pale skin. Yuri shifts, mumbles again. His lips twitch into a faint smile in his sleep. Otabek smiles too.

“I think I like you too, Yura.”


End file.
